Sister of Nurgle
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-Sister of Nurgle-
Introduction
The corrupted sister Apphia roamed across the battlefield, the scorched earth crunching sickly underneath her boots, like bones; as she made her way around the rotting dead. Father Nurgle had been successful in the battle and now all that remained was to enjoy the spoils of war. His daemons had made quick work of the pitiful planetary defence force and the first steps were being taken to completely infest the planet. Apphia still retained most of her former beauty, but her loveliness was only skin deep; beneath this veneer she had been blessed and filled with gifts from Nurgle. Her new purpose in life was to spread those blessings.
The moans of a worthless mortal, alerted her to a wounded guardsmen twitching weakly and gurgling in his own blood. She was surprised that any human had survived, but now she had a chance to bring another into the fold.
The guardsman looked up at the Sister of Battle that approached him with glazed eyes, though her face was clean and healthy her armour was encrusted with filth, and all manner of polyps, fungi, scum and other scourges were nestled among it. The noble fleur-de-lis, which symbolized her former order, had been replaced with the pulsating mark of Nurgle. The overwhelming stench of death and decay followed her like a billowing mantle of pestilence, she wrapped around herself; the guardsman had begun to choke the moment the fetid air had enveloped him. Apphia smiled at her luck, she had found someone in need of help and as her grin widened a worse smell began to fill the air. She straddled the lying guardsman and forcefully thrust her tongue into his mouth, choking him as the putrid slime worked its way down his throat, forming lesions and sores wherever it touched. Her thrusts deepened as his tongue stopped resisting and soon she began to feel the first signs of deep infection forming. She lowered his head down and smiled again; for she knew her first gift was appreciated.
Apphia opened the lower part of her filth encrusted armour exposing her grotesque and defiled womanhood that seemed to pulsate sickly, as if it was breathing in the air. It had been personally blessed by a greater unclean one of Nurgle. It now would bare her no young, but rather new diseases to spread for Nurgle, a sick mockery of its former purpose.
The diseased and dying flesh covered with engorged pustules and weeping sores, formed a deep contrast with her flawless face. Noxious mucous dripped from her as her excitement grew. She felt no joy about the act itself, but she knew it was the best way to spread new diseases, by letting him access the root of her gift.
With her claws she removed the crusted fabric of his clothes, letting her caress spores into his bare skin, she worked her way down exposing his hardened phallus, the aphrodisiac in the spores doing its job. Grasping it, she positioned it under her and let him penetrate. She felt the head of the phallus rasping against her rough inner walls. She increased the tempo of her thrusting; his member becoming increasingly battered with each thrust, her abrasive insides letting her prepare him for her coming climax. In her increasing ecstasy she undid her upper armour and began to fondle her bloated breasts; and as she squeezed them a pestilent secretion leaked from her nipples and splashed across his skin. The pus beginning to eat away his skin, as she began to writhe in pleasure for the care she was giving him. She increased her pace and loosened her bowels as she approached her climax. When she could bear no more, she knew he was ready for her gift. Apphia let her cervix open and volatile sludge cascaded over his member. She let loose her second climax and shit poured from her anus. The large and slick pile writhed manically as daemonic worms emerged and slowly began to burrow into the guardsman’s now pasty skin.
His body was in different states of infection, with his member being the most 'blessed'; her initial gifts to him paled in comparison, as Nurgle's rot and the other myriad of gifts began to envelop him; slowly enshrouding his body in contagion and his soul in the pit of Nurgle. After they consumed him completely, his soul would join Nurgle in the warp, a never-ending reward. If he only knew what he was about to experience.
She rose and re-fastened her armour. As she did the clasps and the armour sealed itself, she admired the infections that were spreading across his body. His veins pulsed with black contagion, spreading from his groin and going straight to his heart, as his skin blistered and shrivelled. The rate was faster than she had expected, but she had given him expert care in this regard. Sadly he could give her no new gifts, but there were many more left on the battlefield and even if she could not gain a gift from them, she could always share with them hers…
Chapter 1
Apphia woke from a disturbing and impure dream that was now only beginning to fade. She felt unclean in both body and mind; she was covered in sweat and the sheets clung to her wetly.
Her other sisters would start with prayers or possibly self-flagellation every morning, to purge themselves. They were both good, but one could not be pure without a thoroughly clean body. She disentangled herself from the bed-sheets and stretched in front of the elegant full body mirror. Her defined muscles blended seamlessly with her athletic form, with the swell of her ample breasts perfectly complemented her light frame, giving her a feline beauty that few could match. Short white hair framed her face, highlighting her aristocratic features and hard obsidian eyes; this, her flat stomach and chiseled legs, from wearing heavy amour, gave her the look of a lethal and alluring warrior. After studying her reflection for a few moments she made her way to the bathroom; she couldn't forget her morning enema, but right now she only wanted to shower.
As the burning hot water washed over her she slowly rubbed her body with soap, taking care to cover every spot and letting her enjoy the sensual experience. The very strictest sisters would eschew such practices, but even they had their own twisted kinks. All sisters had their little pleasures; Apphia's were fairly mild for her rank. What was wrong with taking a longer shower and letting her hands wander.
She slowly rubbed the suds over her toned and lithe body. Making sure to slowly stimulate her sensitive spots with nimble hands. She devoted most of her attention to her clit; she abstained from inserting her fingers in her fundament. Other sisters did, but she never was highly aroused by it. Two fingers began to slowly circle, the circle drawing closer with each revolution and increasing in speed. The pleasure was intense as she reached her climax. She would not normally allow herself this luxury of taking cleansing showers so often and so long, but circumstances were different. She reached for more cleansing fluid to make sure her entire body was clean before she left the showering unit. She let her hands wander again; she still had some time to kill.
Apphia had been taking more showers than was usual even for her. This whole planet was worthless. Covered in swamps and decay, the constant showers were the only way she could deal with it. The former monastery, in which they were stationed, was built on solid ground but even here it was still unbearable; the air alone was nauseating.
But even worse was the fact that her battle squad had been assigned to serve as an escort for Orders Hospitaller. Some of them enjoyed cleanliness and purity, but most were content to deal with all the filth and uncleanness. They debased themselves by letting the grime live, nurturing it.
There were some suspicions of a Nurgle cult, who often caused outbreaks like this but the planetary governor only had enough pull to warrant those who were nearby. The small monastery had been commandeered to serve as a makeshift hospital. It was an unfeeling gesture, her forces were insufficient to do anything but barely protect this corner.
Apphia's quarters were currently one of the larger prayer chambers. It was spartanly decorated and somewhat too small for her liking but it would have to do. Being in the same building as the diseased was torture though. If she had had her way, she would have let the diseased, who were coming here in ever-greater numbers, face the wrath of her blessed flamer; the promethium would cleanse them and their souls would be free from corruption. Sadly, none were in such a grievous state, forcing her to do nothing but stay in her room and keep clean, or keep a look out (but that would mean having to deal with tides of the sick and ill). At least she didn’t have to, and she gave a shudder at the mere thought, assist her lower healing sisters and try to 'cure' the infected hordes.
If a Nurgle cult was really involved, they could do no good here. There were only twelve other Adeptus Soritas protecting the monastery, they could hold off a full-blown cult for a while, but eventually the last bolter rounds would be fired and the promethium would run dry, while the infection continued to spread. And if there was no cult (and this turned out to be a simple outbreak), their presence was wasted here.
Her sisters were keeping watch, sparing her from having to deal with the trash outside. She pitied them, but there were some benefits of being a sister superior; and this allowed her to pass away the time with the pursuit of pleasure. She stepped out of the shower and dried herself off, as she did so her gilded chrono chimed. Apphia looked at it, only three hours had passed since she awoke. Through the stained-glass window, she saw only the depressing visage of fog and swamp.
She felt a cramp in her gut; shit was beginning to painfully build up. Damn, she thought, she had gotten so caught up in her cleansing that she had forgotten her morning enema. As she sat on the ornate commode, she felt the pieces of shit slowly inch past her anus. The smell began to hit her, noxious and sickening; to feel each piece of filth that left her was degrading. She had finally pushed the last piece of shit out; this experience was a reminder to keep to her schedule. She sealed the commode and made her way to the shower again. She would keep it quick this time, but afterwards she would have some fun.
Freshly washed and clad only in a loose robe, she called for her newest servitor. She had picked this one up five months ago, but with her downtime she finally had a chance to have some fun with her. On an earlier mission she had encountered a young and supple pysker, her skin was creamy underneath blazing red hair. She took pity on this nubile young psyker and, transformed into a mindless servitor, her body was too fine to waste by just burning it. Now Apphia would let the body suffer for her previous sins. The servitor appeared before her; the machinery was recessed and did nothing to distract from what lay before her, Apphia licked her lips in anticipation. For the moment the servitor was wearing a simple silk robe, so light it was nearly opaque, it barely obscured the young and tender body.
Leaving the young pysker, she turned around and opened a finely decorated box, in it was a monstrous double-headed phallus attached to a complex leather harness. It was a tool of punishment, along it ran a variety of spikes and hooks, wickedly shaped and stained from previous uses; the other half was designed for pleasure, a true tool of the Adeptus Sororitas. She slowly let her robe open and strapped on the tool.
“Get on your knees,” Apphia commanded sternly. The tone was unnecessary, but she felt it lent the proper air to the occasion.
The servitor obeyed and with a brush of her hand Apphia removed the girls robe, taking a moment to enjoy the exposed view. She grasped the shapely buttocks, and positioned the head of the barbed phallus against the tight virgin asshole....
Chapter 2
Apphia stood on the verge of penetration. The head of her ‘organ of torment’ pressed against the witch's anus. She hesitated to savor the anticipation of her upcoming pleasure and the witches' suffering. The anticipation alone was intoxicating. She was in control and at her whim she could brutally punish the servitor, she was at Apphia's mercy. Apphia ran her fingers across the creamy skin, lightly toying with her sinfully red hair. The depraved thorns of her instrument would brutally rip through her flesh, a favored implement of punishment for the Adepta Sororitas.
A frantic knocking on the door brought her back to the present. It must be important, as her sisters were under strict orders not to disturb, her unless it was dire; and she would feel little sympathy towards the incompetent fools who dared to disturb her otherwise. She would see to their punishment personally.
“Come in.”
Two fully clad sisters rushed into her quarters; they stood silent in the face of their superior. They had interrupted her and no comment would be made till Apphia questioned them.
“Yes?”
“Sister Superior! We have to depart immediately. There have been reports of possible warp activity on the far side of the western continent!”
Apphia sighed.
“Ready the sisters then, I will take nine with me. We shall leave in fifteen minutes.”
She looked longingly at the virgin ass before her but she could enjoy it later. Apphia took off her harness, letting her robes slide to the floor and began to prep her armor. Her servitor would stay as her mistress left her, on her knees, ready and waiting for Apphia's return. The armor of a sister was a complex work of art and craftsmanship. Each piece was hand formed and the amount of detail that went into its creation was astonishing. Symbols of her holy order, the noble Inquisition, purity seals and holy scripts adorned the armor showing her purity. As a sister rose in rank, her armor grew in detail, the highest sisters’ armor were masterpieces; to look upon them was to see the glory of the empire before them. The cool armor touched her warm flesh, the crafted armor fitting perfectly with her body.
She exited her rooms and made her way down the stairs on her way to the courtyard. She did the final clasps and the powered armor fully sealed itself. She normally wore no helmet in battle, but in this hellhole she knew it would serve its purpose. She strode outside, past the lines of the frail sick, coughing and pallid. Nearby she saw the three Valkyries that had just landed and were waiting to carry her to battle. Before them stood nine of her best sisters and twenty of the local defense force's finest guardsmen, they were weak and pathetic, expendable amateurs. She walked into the command ship with her sisters following, quickly strapping herself in, as the flight would take a while.
The long flight gave her mind time to wander. Punishing the guilty was a pleasure and responsibility as a higher sister. In the Adepta Sororitas, pleasure was never without pain though. Older sisters eventually learned how to savor both equally. After they indulged themselves, new sisters normally would go lightly on the lash, trying to minimize the pain. If they were caught, older sisters showed them the error of their ways. Apphia had done her fair amount of punishing, but was never overly cruel about it.
She still remembered her first time seeing a public punishment; Apphia had been only a sister at that time, almost finished with her training. A younger sister had been overly indulgent in the last few weeks and had been skimping most of her punishment.
All sisters were allowed to indulge in pleasure, but punishment always followed. Younger sisters often formed temporary couples or simply participated in the many orgies. The 'rules' were fairly lax. Some activities required certain 'cleansing rituals,' but most were fine. An ever-popular item in these events was a harnessed phallus as Sisters were forbidden the touch of a man. Sisters of the Adepta Sororitas swore to keep themselves pure for the emperor, and nor were sisters allowed to engage in activities that would limit their battle effectiveness. In addition, any activity that bore the taint of chaos was punishable by torture, followed by death. Self-pleasure was somewhat looked down upon, especially when there were other sisters around to join in, but it was still accepted. Older sisters were forbidden to join in such orgies; they were supposed to be above such things. However, they 'invited' younger sisters to spend an evening with them. No one refused these offers; as it was a matter of bad taste and dishonoring an older sister was never a good idea. To face the wrath of one of these sisters was foolish, as an older sister reserved the right to punish any younger sister at the slightest break of tradition.
Once again, she remembered the young sister who had overindulged herself. Lydia was her name and, from what Apphia had heard, she had refused a direct invitation from Canoness Commander Mara herself. A week later, when the Canoness was in her 'red rage', Lydia was found too lightly punishing herself. The enraged Canoness had her bound and carried to the cloister for her punishment.
Mara was an older sister, head of the small convent. Her body was well muscled and scarred from decades of constant warfare; she was satisfied and her expression showed it. She slowly made her way to the center of the courtyard, knowing each moment would be one of agony and uncertainty for Lydia, serving as prelude to what lay ahead.
The other sisters had gathered around the courtyard. While in the convent, none wore armor, they were only clad in simple robes; several hundred sisters trained and all of them were watching.
Lydia was bound, lying naked on the tiles in the blazing midday sun. She was still young, her body shapelier than the normal sister and her muscles not yet coming into full definition. Her normally cheerful and insolent face was wracked in fear and terror at what was going to happen. The faces of the sisters that surrounded her were mixed; some shone with looks of joy, as they waited for what was coming next. Others wore looks of confusion, sharing with her the same uncertainty of what was to come next.
“We are here for the punishment of this sister. She has shown herself to be un-devoted to the cause, but we shall give her a chance at redemption.”
With that, Canoness Mara handed her a flail whip. Seven braided leather extensions flowed from the handle, each ending in a metal stud. The whip was designed to inflict greater pain than that normally caused by self-punishment. A cruel smile split the Canoness’s face.
“You know what to do.”
Already sobbing, Lydia grasped the whip and proceeded to punish herself. The strokes were clumsy and no blood was drawn. Noises of disapproval from her fellow sisters followed each lackluster stroke.
Enraged, the Canoness knocked the whip out of her hand. Her battle-hardened strength was enough to cause the poor sister to be knocked to the ground, her body smashing against the tiles. Her cries rung out through the cloister.
“Bring my personal equipment, now!”
The Canoness’s servitors woke from dormancy and rushed off to retrieve her personal gear. These poor girls were conscripted from the nearby villages. Taken at a young age they were lobotomized and fitted with machinery so that they better performed their duty.
They returned with several large boxes, each showing the fine craftsmanship that was common in their order. Apphia struggled to get a better look as the crowd shifted restlessly and saw hungry looks of anticipation from some of the older sisters; but this spectacle was new to her.
Mara lifted a large phallus from the first case. The size was many times bigger than what the other sisters had ever used on her. There seemed to be some sort of design on the surface, Apphia strained for a better viewpoint. She raised her hand to her mouth (in astonishment). It was not a design; they were spikes, hooks, barbs and blades, irregularly jutting out. This was not toy of pleasure, but a wicked instrument of pain.
When Lydia saw the Canoness's tool, she screamed out and tried to struggle away. Wordlessly the servitors grabbed hold of her. Her repeated struggles to escape were stopped by the machinery-enhanced muscles.
“Gag her,” said Mara as she slipped into the harness.
The second box was brought forth. Mara lifted her personal flail whip out and raised it above her, the inlaid metals catching the sun. From the end extended nine whips, each ending in a wickedly curved spike. Mara gave it a test. With a mighty crack she struck Lydia, her back was sliced open, blood dripping to the flat stones beneath.
“I will give you one last chance, Sister Lydia, are you truly sorry for your sins?”
The servitors removed the gag, Lydia whimpered as she tried to respond.
“Yes...Mother, I am...truly...sorry for my sins.”
The sentence seemed to take much out of her and she resumed her sobbing.
“Good. Then we shall start the healing.”
A smile shone on Mara's face. Around her the other sisters were getting excited, they did their best to conceal their pleasure. Though no punishment would be given for them enjoying the spectacle, discretion was always important. The older ones knew what was coming. The younger ones stared on in amazement.
“Bring the holy Promethium.”
The large chalice was brought forth. Attendant sisters carried the related items of purity.
Without warning Mara delivered three more strokes to Lydia. Her cries rang out through the convent. Her back was sliced while the sisters of the chalice were sprinkling cleansing drops of the holy promethium on her back. The pain increased and Lydia's screams grew more ragged.
While Lydia was still in shock, with blood weeping from the fresh wounds, Mara grabbed Lydia's firm rear and fully penetrated her womanhood. The brute strength of the Canoness forced the entire phallus in. Lydia screamed out, while the other sisters watched.
Apphia was entranced by the spectacle unfolding before her, but she noticed some sisters were otherwise getting excited. She herself felt a trembling below; A wet spot began to show on her undergarments. As the blood splashed on to the tiles, Apphia began to appreciate the scene even more. The way Mara's phallus penetrated and ripped into Lydia's flesh was enthralling. Three more strokes of the whip soon followed the penetration, along with another blessing of promethium. It carried on in a similar fashion with the brutality increasing as the floor became slick with blood. Apphia began to notice more and more sisters having wandering hands as it continued. She herself soon followed suit.
After one hour, Lydia was lying on the ground. She had stopped screaming out in pain long ago and had accepted her fate and only the faint whimpers and constant tears showed her true feelings. Mara smiled. Her older daughters had been aroused by this display and the younger ones had learned the penalty for disobedience. She would have wished to continue this in the dungeons below; where the order had assembled a large and interesting display of punishment tools. They were normally reserved for heretics and witches, but she still saw the look of complete defiance in the Lydia's eyes. She would let her heal and wait; Lydia would be broken down. There was no doubt about it.
“Carry her to the Hospitaller. She needs to recover.”
The servitors lifted Lydia's broken and bloodied body off the stained tiles.
Apphia drifted back into the present and leaned back in the seat. Her face flushed under her helmet as the memory of punishment filled her with joy. The engines droned on, it would be a long flight...